Beginner's Luck

by Paul Somers

  I sat up rather late that night, drinking bitter and talking shop with Lawson. By now he’d completely accepted me, and we got along fine together. He was fascinating about coroners’ officers and post mortem indications and exhumations he’d attended, and it was nearly midnight when we went up to bed. Even then I wasn’t in a hurry to turn in. The case had been disappointing, after the initial burst of excitement, but I felt stimulated and not at all in the mood for sleep. I sat in the window seat of my room, finishing my pipe, and gazing down at the quiet street.

  The church clock struck twelve. As the last note died away I caught a sound from below which, at that time of night, was most unusual. It sounded like the front door of the pub being opened. I looked out, and saw a shadowy figure slip into the street and walk quickly away. It was Mollie!

  I hesitated, but only for a second. It was just possible that she was simply in need of fresh air, but it seemed most unlikely. I remembered Lawson’s advice—”Keep your eye on Mollie!” I crept downstairs and let myself out. I could still hear the light tap of her heels on the road. She was going up the hill towards the castle. I closed the door softly behind me and set off after her.

  Chapter Ten

  The night was very dark. Lodden’s two street lamps were already out; not a light glimmered in any of the cottages. I groped my way up towards the kissing-gate. As long as I could feel the hard road under my feet, I was all right, but once I’d turned into the field I was lost and every step had to be taken with care. I couldn’t imagine what Mollie thought she was up to. It wasn’t as though these fields were without hazards in the dark. There was, I remembered, a deep ditch between the gate and the castle, crossed by a footbridge that one could easily miss. There was the moat itself. There was the river. And somewhere down on the right, running into the river, there was a small unfenced stream. A torch would have been very comforting.

  I could see nothing of Mollie at all. I assumed that she must be making straight for the castle, and went cautiously forward in what I hoped was the right direction. As long as I kept going uphill I must come to the castle sooner or later. But when, after fifty yards or so, I stopped to listen, I thought I heard the sound of someone moving on my right, farther down the slope. Perhaps it was the river she was making for. I dropped down a little myself.

  It was eerie, out there in the lonely darkness. Until now I’d taken a pretty impersonal view of the castle murder—I hadn’t known or met any of the people directly affected, and to me it had been just a story, a mystery to be solved. To-night, I felt less detached. The battlements of the silent castle, which I could just make out now as a vague shape against the sky, had a brooding, sinister air. My mental picture of Hoad’s face as his body had come gurgling up to the surface of the well was very vivid. The thought that a savage killer had been at work here so recently was unpleasant. Whatever it was that Mollie was up to, she had plenty of nerve. I couldn’t hear her at all, now—she was obviously moving with the greatest care. For a while I stood still and listened—there seemed no point in going on when I didn’t know where I was making for. I thought I heard faint stirrings in the grass around me. Maybe I was beginning to imagine things! Then a twig cracked sharply, away to the right. Mollie was down by the river. She seemed to be working her way round the foot of the castle hill. I felt quite baffled. If she’d had a torch it might have made some sense—but what on earth could she hope to discover in the dark?

  I continued to stalk her. After each half-dozen steps, I stopped to listen again. I could hear her more clearly now—she appeared to have got mixed up with a hedge. Then, as the crackling died away, I heard another sound, and suddenly I felt my flesh creep. It was a slow, stealthy tread, and this time it came from behind me. There was some other person out here with us!

  For a moment, I was frankly scared. The back of my head tingled as though a blunt instrument were already raised above it. If only I could see something! Then I took a grip on myself. If, for some reason, the murderer had returned to the scene of his crime, he was still only a man, and a man in the dark, like myself. I stood very still, listening. I could hear nothing now. I took ten paces downhill, and stopped once more. Again, for a second, I caught the sound of that cautious, menacing step—then, silence! Should I move towards him?—or should I wait? Waiting was unnerving. I took another step—and almost missed my footing. There seemed to be nothing in front of me but air. I crouched down and felt the ground with my hands and it fell away sharply. By now I had only the vaguest idea where I was. It couldn’t be the moat, I was too far down the hill for that. Perhaps it was the river. With one hand outstretched, I lowered myself down the slope. After a moment I touched water. It was too shallow for the river—it must be the tributary. I drew back, listening. The movement behind me was louder. I heard the crunch of a stone. Whoever it was had flung caution away. This was it!—he was coming in for the kill! I braced myself. In the deep silence, I could even hear the grass being crushed. I could hear breathing, agitated breathing. A patch of sky grew darker than the rest as the shape of a man rose up above me. Well, attack was the best defence. I made a dive for him.

  There was a fearful yell, and a moment of wild struggle, and then he went plunging down the bank into the stream. It was Lawson!

  I couldn’t see him, but judging by the gasping and splashing he was in a pretty panic. I called out in a fierce whisper, “It’s me—Curtis! Come out, you clot!” There was a second’s silence, and then he came clambering up the bank towards me, breathing hard. I stretched out a hand and helped him out. He was soaked from head to foot.

  “God, old boy, you gave me a hell of a fright,” he said.

  “You gave me one, too. What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, I suppose. I saw Mollie slip out and thought I’d better follow. I didn’t realise you’d seen her, too. What’s she up to?”

  “I haven’t a clue. I don’t even know where she is, now.”

  He shivered. “Well, I’d better get back to the pub—I can’t stick around in this state. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll stay for a bit, now I’m here. Might as well check up on her. I’ll be seeing you.”

  “Okay … Christ, I’m wet!” He turned and stumbled off into the darkness.

  It had been a ridiculous episode, but at least it had broken the tension. Mollie must have heard us, so there was no point in keeping quiet any more. It was she who was keeping quiet, and I wasn’t at all sure that I’d be able to find her. Still, I was much too curious to leave her without having a try. I worked my way cautiously down the bank of the stream and when I reached the river I turned left. It must have been about here, I decided, that Mollie had been in trouble with the hedge. Almost at once I reached the hedge myself. I found a way through, at the cost of minor scratches, and followed the river for fifty yards or so, stopping several times to listen. There wasn’t a sound—I might have had the place to myself. Perhaps I had, I thought—perhaps Mollie had gone on along the river. In any case, it seemed unlikely that I should ever find her in this blackness. It was absurd—I’d be much better off in bed. I turned up the slope towards the castle. Near the top I stopped to listen again. As I did so, a voice almost at my feet said, “Is that you, Hugh?” I hadn’t found Mollie—Mollie had found me.

  I said “Yes” and felt my way towards her and dropped down beside her on the grass.

  She said, “What’s the idea of following me?”

  “Magnetic attraction,” I told her.

  “Was that Lawson down there?”

  “Yes. He’s gone back to take a mustard bath.” I told her what had happened.

  “You are a couple of idiots.”

  “We had no choice. It’s a rigid instruction at the Record—‘Keep your eye on Mollie.’ It’s up on the notice board, signed by the Editor! What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Following a hunch.”

  “So I imagined. May I know what? I mean, if it comes off I’m bound to be in on it now
, aren’t I?”

  “I don’t suppose it will come off.”

  “Then you won’t lose anything by telling.”

  “Well, it’s quite simple. My idea is that Hoad may have been killed because he saw something he shouldn’t have done.”

  “At the castle?”

  “Probably.”

  “What would there have been to see in that empty shell?”

  “I don’t know, but someone might have been doing something there in secret.”

  “Like trying to demolish it for export, you mean?”

  “You can jeer if you like, but it’s about the only explanation that makes any real sense. As I see it, two men converged on this place who didn’t know each other. One was Hoad, holiday-making, sight-seeing, curious. The other was a man who’d come back with a key after four years. And there was a collision.”

  “Well, it’s an interesting thought,” I said, “and you may be right.

  But that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. The murderer’s hardly likely to show up again.”

  “He might, if his work was interrupted.”

  “Wouldn’t he have finished it before he left? After he’d tidied up the murder?”

  “He wouldn’t have had much time,” Mollie said. “Getting rid of the body and scuttling the boat must have taken hours.… Anyway, if he’d thought he could finish it he’d hardly have gone to all that trouble to cover up what had happened. He’d simply have finished it and cleared off. At least, I should think so. I’d say he knew he had to come back.”

  “H’m! It’s all guesswork, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. I told you—it’s a hunch.”

  “Even if you’re right, what makes you think he might turn up to-night?”

  “It’s the first night he could do it safely. The police have gone—the coast’s clear.”

  “That’s a point.… So how long do you plan to stay here?”

  “Oh, an hour or two.”

  “I thought you said you were tired!”

  She laughed softly.

  “Well,” I said, “what do you want me to do? Leave you to it?”

  “I don’t insist—not if you don’t make a noise. Nobody’s likely to come if we chatter.”

  “I won’t make a sound,” I said.

  My eyes had got used to the darkness by now. I could make out the loom of the castle quite clearly. We were lying under a low bank about fifty yards from the moat. It was a good strategic spot. It was also a pleasant one. The grass was dry and fragrant. The air was balmy and full of summer scents. I lay back and relaxed. Mollie seemed pretty relaxed, too. She didn’t give the impression that she expected anything much to happen—not as far as the castle was concerned, anyway. I wondered about other things. She was lying very close to me, and she didn’t have to.

  As the minutes passed, my thoughts moved farther and farther from the castle and concentrated more and more on Mollie. In broad daylight there had always been something faintly aloof about her, even when she was being friendly and charming; a “touch-me-not” something that had slightly scared me. Now, as she lay quietly beside me, I didn’t have that feeling. I had quite different feelings. I moved my head a little, and tried to see her face. I could hear her quick breathing, I could just make out her features. She didn’t move, and I kissed her mouth. I’d been wanting to do that ever since I’d set eyes on her. I’d doubted if I could get away with it, but it seemed I could. She still didn’t move, not at first. She just let me kiss her, as though it were an interesting experiment. Then, suddenly, her arms went round me and she kissed me back with warmth and fervour. I hadn’t expected that. There’d been nothing in her attitude to prepare me for fervour. I had an odd feeling that it couldn’t really be meant for me; that maybe she wanted someone else very badly, only I happened to be around. Still, it was very pleasant—and very exciting. I began to hope we might really be going places—but as things began to warm up, she pushed me away.

  “You take a long time to get to the starting point, Mr. Curtis,” she said softly, “but there’s nothing wrong with your acceleration. I think we’d better call it a night!”

  It was then that the silence was broken by a peculiar grating sound. I think we’d both forgotten that we were supposed to be keeping watch, but now we were alert in a second. Someone had turned a key in the lock of the castle door!

  Chapter Eleven

  The thought did cross my mind at that moment that perhaps the most sensible thing would be to go and ring up the police—but then I’d only been a reporter for a week! Mollie didn’t hesitate. “Come on,” she said in a fierce whisper, “let’s find out what’s happening.”

  By the time I’d scrambled to my feet she was already up the bank. I joined her beside the moat, and with infinite caution we worked our way round the bank to the causeway. There was no risk of our being seen—noise was the only danger. We advanced on tiptoe to the door, which was shut. We stood tensely under the great portcullis, listening. All was quiet, inside and outside. Perhaps, I thought, we’d been mistaken about the grating noise. I grasped the iron ring that formed the handle, and began to turn it, very slowly and carefully. Even so, it squeaked a bit. When it was fully turned, I pushed against the door—and it moved. We hadn’t been mistaken.

  I put my shoulder to it and heaved gently, until there was a foot-wide gap. I stuck my head inside and peered round but there was absolutely nothing to be seen. The entrance passage with the “murder holes” over it was impenetrably dark. I slipped through the door, and Mollie followed. Somewhere, a night bird hooted, in the distance, the church clock struck two.

  The courtyard seemed to be empty, but it was hard to tell. The uncertainty was spine-chilling. The man with the key might have heard us. He might be skulking in one of the alcoves, one of the hollow towers, anywhere. There were lots of places. If he was, we were almost bound to give ourselves away. Broken masonry lay across our path like a minefield. We were sure to make some noise. I thought of Hoad again, and what had happened to the back of his head—perhaps when he was doing just this thing. I stood there so long that Mollie grew impatient. “Get on!” she whispered. She was either less scared than I was, or less imaginative. I thought she was less scared.

  I moved across the courtyard, with Mollie close behind me. I managed to avoid the obstructions but Mollie stumbled over something and for a moment we stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, listening. Nothing happened. The man with the key seemed to have melted away.

  Then, somewhere ahead of us, high up, the silence was broken. There were three or four dull, heavy blows, as though someone was knocking in a tent peg with a wooden mallet. The sounds seemed to be coming from the square tower.

  “Who said there were no noises in the night?” Mollie murmured in my ear.

  We had reached the base of the tower now. The wooden door at the foot of the spiral staircase was closed. I eased it open gently. The sounds from above were more muffled inside, but I could still hear them. I began to climb the spiral, telling myself that as long as the noise went on I wasn’t likely to meet anyone on the stairs. I stopped at the first-floor room and peered in, but it was empty. Mollie was pressing at my heels, and I continued to climb. As I rounded the last curve, I saw that the heavy wooden door giving on to the flat roof was standing open, and through it I caught the glimmer of a light. I sank down on the last step, beside the doorway, pressing myself against the wall so that Mollie could squeeze in beside me. Then, cautiously, we looked out.

  There was an electric hand lamp on the roof, placed so that its light was focused on a section of the parapet. In the beam, a man was working. By now, I’d almost convinced myself that it would be Figgis, that it couldn’t be anyone but Figgis—but it wasn’t. This man was much bigger than Figgis. His face was turned away from us. He had a heavy hammer in his right hand, its head covered with a cloth to deaden the sound. In his left hand, he held something that looked like a chisel. He was breaking out the cement that the wo
rkmen had put into the parapet. A few feet to the right of him there was already a gaping hole, which he seemed to have abandoned. On the roof beside the lamp there was a soft travelling-bag and a coil of thick wire. This, beyond any doubt, was Hoad’s murderer.

  It wasn’t easy to decide what to do. We were only a few feet from the man, and now I daren’t even whisper to Mollie. We were terribly cramped. I was in the worst possible position to make a quick, silent approach and take him unawares. Once more, discretion suggested a quiet retreat for reinforcements. But Mollie might not want to go, and I couldn’t leave her, and if we both went the man might get away. And I was desperately eager to know what he was up to. In the end, I did nothing.